Her
by P.Crespi
Summary: "Old Lovers in Dressing Rooms"
1. Old Lovers in Dressing Rooms

A/N: Hello!

This one-shot is a bit different than the ones I have written so far. Please, don't yell at me - but leave me a comment if you can, let me know your thoughts!

Thank you for reading!

* * *

It's funny how life takes us places we never thought we'd go. When we're young, our lives are so compartmentalized, our hopes perfectly divided into these vacuum-sealed vessels half-filled with the simplest of ideas. I'm very much a victim of always selling myself short, never topping off these bottles of dreams, afraid of the consequences of an overflow. Though the fact that I am wandering backstage inside this old theatre is very much proof that sometimes, the breaking of these vessels and the amalgamation of these half-dreamed dreams can be a catalyst for unthinkable things.

Still, I'd trade these broken bottles of dreams and what they brought about for a two-minute trip to the past, back to my first year of high school, back to that post-festival night when the bonfire illuminated Lillian and one could hear the crackling of the cherry wood from as far as the farthest hills. All I need is enough time to deny her request: "May I place this over your neck?"

That rosary never belonged to me.

"Can you not find your room?" Yoshino asks popping up from Maria-sama knows where. Then she looks at the door in front of us, "Ms. Fukuzawa Yumi," she says, pointing at the piece of paper being held up by clear tape.

I smile at her, "Thanks, Yoshino-san… I appreciate your detective skills."

"Don't mention!" she says honestly, like she really helped me find the nametag I had been staring at for the past five minutes.

So, I open the door and invite her in, but she turns down my offer with a mopey, "It looks just like mine…"

Yoshino has always been terribly honest, and her feisty attitude has never bothered me, on the contrary, her straightforwardness is what makes her so unique and such an incredible friend. I've lost count of how many times she stood up for me when I couldn't find the strength to fight, and for that, Yoshino holds a special place in my heart, there just for her. She – much like Touko – is the sister I never thought I'd have. Having her being part of this journey has been a blessing to me.

I walk into the dressing room and close the door behind me. Thinking of how nervous I am right now when all I have to do is sit in front of an auditorium to talk about the book I wrote makes me wonder how terrified I'd be if I had to actually perform in front of them.

 _"_ _I wrote it, Shimazu Yoshino, my best friend, illustrated it. We're very happy about the positive response from our audience."_ I repeat in my head, and chuckle because that's such a ridiculous thing to say when our audience can't even reach the counter to buy our book. _"The idea comes from years of catholic school and a silly joke made by one of our good friends Todou Shimako, where she asked Yoshino if she was part of a secret army of ninjas disguised as school girls and led by a nun. It's funny to think that a simple joke turned into an incredible opportunity for us."_

 _Whatever… I'll just let Yoshino speak._

I throw myself atop of a recliner and toss my bag on the old coffee table in front of me, opening the purse and searching for my phone so I can call Yuuki and make sure he's made it here okay, but somehow the phone is nowhere to be found. I don't panic anymore, though, I've misplaced so many mobiles that my carrier backs up my media every few hours for me. It's a bit sad to think back when I was younger, and how horrified I was of losing things – the blue umbrella comes to mind, and I cringe at the thought of everything else I've lost along the way since then.

Walking out of my room I hear the door click shut behind me, and I press on, looking for Yoshino's name on the multitude of doors that surround this dim-lit corridor. Not in a hurry, I walk slowly, and my pace is not a matter of conscious worry, I'm never concerned about disturbing the pleats of my skirt –not that I wear them anymore – or getting reprimanded by a teacher on the hallways of life. I simply choose this speed; I choose to watch life unravel in front of me as I drag my legs along. I'm very much done running around skittishly, like a squirrel holding on to the last acorn of the season, afraid to death of losing it and starving through winter.

 _I've gone hungry for how long now?_

There are people everywhere, voices seep through closed doors and I hear someone laugh from across the back entrance. I walk by a restroom just to hear the sounds of toilets being flushed – _maybe Sei-sama is right, maybe we're all part of a big crapper, some of us praying nobody flushes, others hoping for the contrary._

But in the midst of that discord there's déjà vu.

I hesitate for a split second as my heart hammers against my chest, though I wade through the urge of crying by pressing on.

"Wait!" I hear again, this time clear and crisp like the first time I heard that same exact request leave her lips.

Then a déjà entendu follows, "Don't go."

I clench my jaw, grinding my molars like I've learned from Yoshino's fits of rage against Rei – the biggest difference, in this case; however, is how Rei's love for Yoshino still remains strong as ever.

"Gokigenyou, Sachiko-sama," I greet her politely, but I don't bow, I just clasp my hands together after turning to face her.

"Gokigenyou, Yumi. You look well."

She's a liar – a very good one. The black jeans and gray sweater over a collared white shirt I'm wearing might fool some in thinking I am trying to look decent in front of people I don't know, and since my hair remains wildly unmanageable for the most part, I have recently taken upon myself the heavy task of learning how to French braid, so I know for sure that some strands are out of place and the flyaways are there, too. I'd be lying if I say I care about what people think of my appearance, though I'm also aware that 'well' is far from what I truly look.

"Thank you," I say dryly.

Taking a step closer she smiles bashfully before adding, "It's… nice seeing you."

She still smells like my youth, her voice remains the soundtrack of my adolescence, present during the good and the bad, tattooed in the depths of my memories, each word she says hit me straight in the heart with a nostalgic homesickness that I haven't felt since the last time I saw her. And it's so cowardly of me to pretend I'm okay with the fact that she is not part of my life anymore when I really am not. Because she was what made sense in my life, because out of all of the things I though were right in the world, loving her was on the top of my list. And because out of all the things I've lost, she has left the biggest void inside of me, one which nothing nor anyone seem to fill.

"You, too" I respond, pushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear and wondering if she feels in anyway as if she should have been the one making sure my hair doesn't look the way it does, and perhaps even chastising me for the massive wrinkle that cuts across my sweater.

She closes the distance between us even further and for a moment I'm afraid she can read my mind, because her hands wrap around my neck, "Your collar—"

"Please," I stop her at once. I'm not her responsibility any longer. For what it's worth I am thankful for the time she spent trying to mold me into a decent human being. The fact that she has failed at it shouldn't be a reflection of her capabilities, but instead, it should only solidify the fact that I am unyielding, uncouth and should have never been entrusted with her rosary and the obligations which accompany the title of Petite Soeur, en-bouton, Rosa Chinensis. I was never the right person for such positions, and coming out of those three years of Yamayurikai with only a few scratches like I was able to is vastly due to the incredible feats performed by Yoshino and Shimako. At times I even wonder if I've clouded the best years of Touko's life just by standing by her – she deserved better than inarticulate and ordinary.

Reaching behind my neck I lift up my collar and fold it back down while she apologizes with decorum she would have never used around me when we were soeurs.

 _What a difference a couple of years make in people's lives._

I invite her over and she follows me to my room quietly, all but counting my steps to make sure she remains behind me, because falling into step with me, standing by my side would probably make her burst into flames – apparently, that's what I do to people: I have this extraterrestrial power to make them spontaneously combust.

And it hurts me so very much to look back and think I was the one left with the burden of the "I love you, too." Because in the grand scheme of things, "I love you," is weightless as it is selfless; however, "I love you, too," is binding, terrifyingly compromising, it carries the finality of a last sentence. When I said to her, "Onee-sama, I too, love you, very much," inside her late grandmother's bedroom, when she begged Maria-sama for me not to be a dream, I was giving her ownership of my heart, which she already had in her possession regardless. And my, oh man, to me, when she spoke her three words, she looked as wonderful as a summer day even if she had not slept in days, even as the eyeliner smudges stained her cheeks, even with heaviness in her eyes, even with darkness is her soul… even still, she was the most beautiful woman in the universe, and "I love you, too," made her mine.

I open the door, "Please," I point to the couch, "I'll make tea," I say, and from the corner of my eyes, I watch her take a seat, she keeps her coat on, nonetheless. Maybe it's better that way. Maybe making sure she doesn't feel comfortable is her way to keep herself accountable around me.

Does she remember when she used to find any excuse to touch me? Running her fingers along my shoulders as if by doing so she'd straighten my sailor-collar which was never in need of straightening. Does she remember when she'd take my scarf by fistfuls while pressing her chest against mine, one of her legs between both of mine? And she'd kiss me unabashedly inside the Rose Mansion, "I love you," she was always the first one to say. "I love you, too," I'd answer with my lips pressed against hers, terrified that if my mouth left hers, she'd vanish from my arms.

I'd love to know in which corner of Lillian University she buried her heart, because there, I'd also find what's left of mine.

"Here," I hand her a lonely teacup, "I couldn't find the saucers."

 _"_ _I can't find the strength to let go either,"_ I think about adding, but there's no use conjuring up old ghosts when we had summoned so many monsters day after day before I decided to leave Lillian University. Come to think of it, we fought so much during the months preceding my leaving all I can remember from that winter break is the burning in my lungs and the emptiness in my chest.

"Don't worry about it," she responds.

I sit across from her taking a sip of the hot black tea which tastes as cheap as the one we used to have at the Rose Mansion.

"It's delicious," she lies again.

She is good at it, but I am the one who lives with this burden of knowing everything about her, so I know that her eyes turn a shade darker when she's not telling the truth. And I know she lies to save face, to keep her father happy – not even knowing exactly what he really wants from her. She lies to maintain the Ogasawara name unharmed, and by doing so she hurts herself, she hurts me.

"Thanks," I humor her with the little graciousness I still have in me.

Then she continues, "It's been—"

I cut her off, "A long time."

"Can you believe Onee-sama graduates this year?"

"Time really flies," I'm careful with my mouth because even after all of this time, my heart tends to get me in trouble. If I let my guard down, my words would incriminate me terribly, "I thought about you everyday," I'd say.

She leans forward, placing the teacup on the coffee table in front of us and I catch a glimpse of the rosary around her neck. For a moment my lungs burn, I fight the urge to gasp at the sight of something that was once mine, something that long ago was as part of me as my fingers, my ears, my lips, my heart.

"It really does," she smiles and her eyes glimmer. For a second I see the Sachiko I once knew, I see the girl who was as in love with me as I was with her, but just like that, that girl is gone.

"…"

"I… saw your book at J station."

"Yoshino is known for leaving them at random stores," I try to joke, but can't even get a chuckle out of her. She used to laugh at my jokes, giggle like a little kid when she'd tell the story of how horrified she was when she thought I was going to perform the Yasuki Folk Song at Saionji-sama's birthday party back when we spent that week at her parents' summer home.

"…You must be happy."

"Not yet…" I let it slip, and feel a fever reach the tip of my ears.

Somehow she looks disappointed, and it's fitting that after all this time I can still frustrate her with as little as two words.

"—I write kids' stories… I'm not sure I should be proud yet."

"They're wonderful."

"Sure…"

"But… You write more than children's books, right?"

I raise an eyebrow at the strange question. If I am sitting on this couch inside this theatre is because of children's literature.

"…"

"Minako-sama told me…"

"…"

"About the letters she published the semester after you left."

"…"

"Yumi."

She looks me square in the eyes, and asks, "Did you really write them?"

"…" I stand quietly.

"You wrote all of them, didn't you? Even the ones that were only published on the blog…"

She stands, too, slowly closing the distance between us and I lower my head down, closing my eyes tightly only to reopen them in a panic when I feel her fingertips softly upon my cheek, then she cups my face and I give in, leaning into the palm of her hand with abandon, like that touch is the next breath I should take. The warmth of her touch, though overwhelming, doesn't bring me an ounce of solace, instead, it showers me with desperation.

"Does it really matter?" I ask with despondence while she withdraws her fingers from my cheek.

"Did you write them for me?"

"If you have to ask, then I'm afraid you've forgotten who I am." I let my heart speak. I let it because it burns inside my chest and spreads that fever through my limbs. I let it because it still burns for her, after all of these years, after the decisions we've both made, which led us here, strangers, tip-toeing around each other, it still burns for her – though I must admit, I prefer the screaming matches, the hot tears on both of our faces, because that was proof that she still cared, and that she still wanted to fight for a future with me. If I ever seemed angry, it was never at her, but at her lack of peripheral vision, her lack of willingness to see beyond the fog that suffocated us, her lack of faith in me and my ability to take her by the hand and lead her to safety without taking a wrong turn and killing both of us.

"I would never—"

"It seems as if you have..."

"Wasn't it what you wanted from me?" she shoots back.

"That's—" _so unfair, Sachan,_ I want to add.

"You gave Touko a new rosary so you could give mine back, Yumi…"

"It was a constant reminder of you…" then I swallow the, _"of us… of what we could never be…"_

"…"

"I… didn't mean to raise my voice," I breathe out, then in again. _She smells like my youth, like the first warm days of spring when I still wore my heavy coat across campus on my way to the Rose Mansion. And there she'd greet me with a soft, "Gokigenyou, Yumi," no honorific necessary, because to her, I was Yumi, not Fukuzawa Yumi, or Yumi-san, or Yumi-chan… just Yumi. She smells like the days it was enough just being Yumi, not Fukuzawa-sensei, not Yumi-sama, not Ms. Fukuzawa. I was just Yumi. I was her Yumi. And it was enough for her._

"I didn't mean to upset you," she apologizes.

"It's fine…"

She takes a step back, "Your hair… has grown out…" she strays from the main topic.

"It's more manageable when my bangs are off my face."

"I see…"

"How's your grandmother's house?" I ask.

"We're finally done with the renovation."

"And Kashiwagi-san?"

"He's fine."

"…"

"You've moved, too, right?" she asks and I'm surprised she knows as much.

"Yeah… I have a house now."

"Do you remember packing Sei-sama's flat on Saturday nights? We'd sleep on the floor, drunk off cheap sake…"

"I sure do…" I respond, afraid that if I tell her I still do that, she'd think even less of me.

Then her phone buzzes inside her coat; she reaches for it, looking at the message on the screen. She tells me she has to go.

"I'm proud of you and Yoshino, you know."

"It's not that big a deal."

"Don't be modest."

"…"

"Would you sign a copy for me?"

"Eh?"

"A copy of your book…"

"I… don't have any on me, b-but I can send you one on Monday."

She thanks me for the tea before saying goodbye, then she walks out, and I'm left inside on my own, the two teacups still sitting on the coffee table.

I lower myself on the recliner. I take a deep breath. The silence buzzes in my ear like the loudest of noises, still, I brazen through the ringing, hoping I can come out of it unscathed – or at least just as bruised and broken as I already am.

So I lean back, crackling my knuckles until I hear a knock on the door. Even before I give whomever is on the other side permission to come in, the handle twists open, "Did you lose your phone ag— The fuck happened to you?!" Yoshino shrieks.

"Nothing."

"Something has clearly happened," she says worried.

"Nothing has happened."

"There's… some people you should meet," she adds with hesitance after looking at the coffee table.

"I couldn't find the saucers…" I say quietly.

We walk out.

The door clicks shut behind us.

* * *

A/N: I'd like to give credit where credit is due: The general idea for this one-shot comes from the song "Old Lovers in Dressing Rooms" by Keaton Henson.

Thank you for reading!

A/N #2: 10/21 - Replaced file to update a scary sentence structure flaw and another typo... Holy mother of Jesus! Please, feel free to shoot me a PM if you see a typo or a weird sentence! :)

A/N # 3: 4/3/18: Corrected misspelling of word "decent" twice - thank you, trinculo!


	2. Lavender

Hello,

I've always been biased when it comes to sequels. When the subject is music, I'm skeptical about second albums - I've always been like that... But here I am, writing a continuation to what I thought was just a sad one-shot.

I've written and published several things on FF before, some pretty "sketchy" like someone has called one of my chapters before (What? It made me chuckle!), but tonight, I find myself hesitating a bit with this one... I've been sitting on this story for months now, and even now, I'm afraid it's not going to be as good as the first chapter - so forgive me if I don't deliver.

* * *

I push the front door open and hold it with my foot so it doesn't slam shut behind me. Then I toss the keys on the tray atop of the ottoman, and my bag on the couch before taking my shoes off, "I'm home," I say to the empty space in front of me.

The words echo across the living room, just like they used to in her grandmother's home, but back then at the end of my sentence, she'd greet me from behind a paperback with a smile. I'd press my lips against hers, both my hands on her thighs while I reached for her, and she'd lean forward, as far as she could, in an attempt to extend that contact, her warm breath in my mouth, my heart in her hands.

I plop down on the couch only to get up again almost immediately, then I walk to my desk, leaning into the box of books by the filing cabinet. Opening the front page, I pick up a pen from the drawer, but the weight of my love for her stops me at once. _How do I even begin this?_

Did she know? I wonder. Did she know we would never be able to recreate those moments inside her grandmother's? Was she aware, even way back when we'd hide inside that old house, afraid shitless that our parents would realize the reason we were nowhere to be found every weekend?

The pen finally glides on the Half Title page on its own accord, _Dear,_ it manages to write, but my fingers tremble, and again, I lose the courage to continue, the strength to trace the first letter of her name drains from me. So I stare at that single word, written neatly in cursive, like it was part of a forgotten dialect.

It's terrible of me to speculate whether she knew exactly how and when our relationship would end, but tonight, after seeing her and having to play that game of pretend where I am fine and she is better, tonight, my heart wonders if every time she pressed my back on the sheets of her bed, she knew exactly where the count-down was – maybe that was the reason why she always loved me with such ardor, with this yearning that terrified me at times, with passion I thought I wasn't worthy of knowing… Come to think of it, I would also have grabbed her tighter, kissed her longer, scratched her deeper if I, too, knew what she knew.

All things come to an end, they say. All things are finite, like our high school years, like our time as Petite Soeurs, Grand Soeurs, Yamayurikai Roses. As kids, we're told exactly when things will begin and when they'll end, yet, even with all of the warnings, we get knees-deep in the mess. We dive heads-first in this pool of feelings, without ever thinking how much it will hurt when we come up for air – if we can even make it to the surface in time.

 _The hardcover, the soft pages, the words and the illustrations inside this book are all part of me, all fragments of the person I once was, of who I am, and the person I'll become. I am so thrilled to share all of it with you._

 _Love always,_

 _Yumi_

I write those words, then stop to reread them before my hand moves up, finally tracing the first letter of her name, followed by the second, third, and fourth, but then I waver because at this point I don't even know if I have the right to address her by the way I used to anymore.

My heart wins in the end, though it aches terribly with each stroke of the pen. How long has it been since I wrote this nickname down so deliberately?

 _If I'm right, then Sachiko knew exactly when I'd drown, and it was her hand pushing my head back down into that pool._

Tears blur my vision when my heart finally recognizes the game she was playing.

 _How could she?!_

My entire body trembles as I tear the signed page from the book, and it hurts me so deeply that I feel I might as well have pulled my heart from my chest. Though I follow through, ripping the page that follows, the acknowledgement page, and all of the other pages until I see, _Once upon a time –_ I stop there, but the tears keep rolling down my face, and the more I wipe them off, the stronger they fall.

And just like that, the book flies across my living room, hitting the wall and lying flat on the hardwood floor.

I wonder if she remembers who she is, or if she lost herself in the corners of a company she never had interest in. I wonder if she lets anyone touch her anymore. I wonder if she remembers how it felt when I used to run my fingers down her spine softly, her hair still damp from her shower.

 _I_ know her. Buried beneath the lies and the fear, there is a girl I used to know from beginning to end, because while she was worried about counting down the days she had left with me, I was carefully writing the book of her inside my heart.

Reaching again for the box of hardcovers, I retrieve a new one then I write:

 _Sachiko-sama,_

 _Wishing you all the happiness in the world._

 _Warmest regards,_

 _Fukuzawa Yumi_

I leave the book open atop of the desk and commence a frantic search for wrapping paper – _I know I have some. I just don't know where I hid it_.

The closet door is open and I'm on my knees, half my body inside a tub full of random Christmas decorations when the doorbell rings. _Are you serious?!_

I want to shout for them to come in, but I know the door is locked, so I roll out of the closet (like it's ever that easy), my hands full of glitter, my hair falling off my braid.

"Oi. We're going for a pint!" I'm greeted when I open the door. Yoshino spends six months in England and now she thinks she's one of them, with the weird greetings and the obsession with beer.

"Are you serious? I just saw you an hour ago!"

She takes a good look at me, then looks across the living room at my desk before saying nonchalantly that Sei was the one who sent her in, "She wanted to celebrate tonight's signing," she finishes, walking into my house without asking for permission and strolling straight to my desk.

Looking down at the book I just signed, she chuckles, "Really, Yumi?" she asks but there's no disappointment in her voice, just, I don't even know…. a sad irony, I assume.

And I stand there, by my front door, mulling over a response that I can't fabricate.

"I… just thought you were trying…" she confesses, her words piercing through my heart because I know how she feels about this whole situation, and I know how much she wants me to be happy, but I'm my worst enemy when it comes down to these feelings of inaptitude.

"She asked me for a signed copy tonight."

"So it _was_ really her…"

"…"

Yoshino remains quiet for a long while, and I use the awkward pause to lock the door and walk toward her.

"You know…" she finally starts, but then seems to deflate, "It's hard for us to see you like that…"

I let out a sigh of resignation as my response. Yoshino is my best friend and I find no need to try and hide things from her. She's my best friend and I love her too much to lie to her, "It's hard for me too," I say, hoping she understands what I mean by these lacking words because my heart won't let my lips expand on the matter without making every bone of my body throb.

Then she offers to deliver the book for me on Monday, but I can't find the strength to let her confront Sachiko again. And though I know she has the best of intentions I also know that I can't let my friends fight all of my battles for me anymore. What happened tonight, the way Sachiko-sama made me feel, will only keep these wounds open.

If Sachiko-sama has decided to become someone we can't recognize anymore, it was her choice. Though it was also _my_ choice to withdraw, to retrieve into this shell I've built as a protection from the world, from the words of people I don't even know, from recognizing that all of this time I've been responsible for letting her linger around, slicing my heart in two every time it started to heal. And if she really knew, if all along she knew that we wouldn't be together, she also knew that my heart was at stake and she did nothing to protect it, said nothing to save me.

It seems so tragic to realize, after so long, that if I want to keep going, if I want to be happy again one day, I can't wait for a knight in shiny armor, because in this story, they will never come. In the tale of Fukuzawa Yumi's heart, if she wants to go on, she'll have to save herself.

"I should take care of this myself, Yoshino…" I say. _"I'm saving myself,"_ I want to add, but that would only create unnecessary questions I'm not quite sure I'm ready to answer yet.

"I see…" she says, picking up the loose pages I had tore off the book and setting them on my desk, "We can take you there on Monday…"

###

Sei stops the bug in front of the gates and I sit quietly on the passenger side until she is done talking to the guard. She points at me and I lift the book up and shoot him a tacky smile when Sei goes, "See, that's her name on the front cover." All the while, Touko is silent in the back seat.

"Leave her here," Sei tells the chauffer that greets us at the front door, "we won't be long and I would hate for you to have to put her away just to bring her out again."

My fingers shake as the three of us wait by the door until Sayako-obasama greets us with a soft, "Please, come in," then Sei, with all of her handsomeness, apologizes for interrupting the Sunday brunch.

So we march forth, Sei leading the parade to the study where Kashiwagi-san waits for us.

"Where's Sachiko, Suguru?" I let Sei handle him because he annoys the living shit out of me.

"It's nice seeing you, too, Satou-san."

I know deep inside Sei wants to punch him in the face as much as I do, but she plays his game of politeness and butt-kissing until he finally leaves the study slowly, but long gone is the smirk on his face with which he greeted us earlier.

And we don't have to wait long until Sachiko opens the door, her jaw dropping at the sight of us, "What is this?" she asks and I latch on to the book, pressing it against my chest and wondering myself what the fuck we're all doing here at her parents house. But then Sei takes the lead, "We're here to deliver this…" she points at me. So, I hand the hardcover to Sachiko a bit hesitantly, "We're here to also ask you for a favor," Sei adds.

"A favor?"

"Sachiko-sama," I say to her, gathering all of the strength I have in me, "Yumi-san has no idea that you've been following her around."

"Yoshino!" she shoots back at me as if I just said the most outrageous thing in the world.

But Sei knows how to handle the heiress much better than I do, and though she likes Sachiko, Sei also doesn't sugar-coat things, "Don't play stupid, Sachan," she says, and I watch Sachiko look straight at Touko, who drops her head and lets out a shy, "They're right, Sachiko-onee-sama."

"We were okay with you lurking once in a while, but we didn't think you would have the guts to actually talk to Yumi!" I vomit the words like a chronic case of Tourette's, my heart banging against my ribcage. How dare her think that she can play with Yumi's heart like that, stepping in when she sees fit only to squeeze out the last of her faith in love! – Baka!

"It will be better for both of you, Sachan," Sei adds, landing a hand on her shoulder.

"…"

"It's not that easy…"

"Are you not done hurting her?" is my questions, and I feel exasperated, time and time again baffled by this woman's excuses.

"It's not that easy, Yoshino…" she repeats herself like I hadn't heard her the first time around. My head aches and I bring my fingers to my temples, trying to contain myself, but it's too late, and I explode in anger, "You have no right to do that to Yumi!" I grind my molars as I exit the study. Then I run through the corridor and out the door until I get back into Sei's car, only then I let the tears fall. Yumi deserves the love of someone who has no reservations regarding who she is, because truth be told, Yumi is a better person than all of us.

###

"Yoshino!" I look at Sei in hopes she can stop Yoshino from running out the door, nothing else comes out of my mouth and we all know why: They want the best for Yumi and I am far from being it. I hurt her, lied to her, I broke our promises, I only thought of myself when I needed to think of her. I lost her because I am a coward, and Yoshino is right to be upset, Yoshino is right to be asking me to stay out of her life because I tend to make things more complicated for her. What Yoshino doesn't understand; however, is that if I don't see her, then the void in my heart grows larger. And I am terrified of the emptiness that her absence leaves me with.

Sei lets out a long sigh and sits down on the couch in front of me, only then she lifts up her gaze and answers, "She's upset…"

"Does that give her the right t—"

"But, it kinda does, too, Sachan!" she interrupts me, "She has all the right to tell you to stop hurting Yumi-chan."

At that I turn my attention to Touko, who remains silent.

"…"

"Touko?" I probe.

"I agree with Sei-onee-sama…" she finally says, and it breaks my heart because more than anyone else, she should know how hard it is for me to forsake the love of my life, to try and disregard this endless begging of my heart that beats only for her.

And it's not that I don't know how to be without her, or that I can't lead a life away from her; but without her I can't find the strength in myself to accept that I am selfish, hysterical, unyielding, ill-equipped, and so many other unflattering things. Without her I can't find the strength to admit that I am afraid of who I am.

"I'm sorry, Sachiko-onee-sama."

"So am I," I admit, hoping I could somehow erase her from my heart, from my mind, from my life. Hoping that with enough kerosene, I could burn away the night she let me place my rosary around her neck. _What good did that night do anyway when in the end this damned rosary is still pressed against my chest?_

This rosary belongs to her. It has always belonged to her. She was a better Petite Soeur than me, a better en-bouton, a better Rosa Chinensis. She is better than me in every single way imaginable.

"It'll be best for both of you, Sachan. Leave he alone. Give yourself the freedom you also need to let go, to move on, to heal."

"And you are the best person to be speaking of letting go, right?!" I scream right back at Sei. Hitting her where it hurts the most, because I am a spoiled brat who cannot have a civil conversation with the people who love me the most without hurting them one way or another, "Who are you to speak of moving on, of letting go, when you know very well you are as cowardly as I—"

"Enough!" I watch the shout drain the strength from Touko, and I am afraid she is also planning on running out of the study. But Sei says she's okay and I take a seat by Rosa Gigantea, both my hands on my face as I swallow the urge to keep scramming until this pain goes away. I look at Sei, "Gomen. Gomenasai, Sei-sama," I whisper instead.

"It's fine…" Sei responds, grabbing Touko by the hand and pulling her down on the couch with us, then Rosa Gigantea wraps an arm around Touko's shoulder.

"You have to remember, Sachan, that Shiori was the one who left…"

"I do…" I add, knowing very well that Sei is right. As much as I hate admitting, she is always right, and although I am upset, I have no right to hurt her because I am hurting.

We sit on the couch for a long while, silence descending upon us like an invisible ointment on our open wounds. And it's incredible to feel loved even when I know I don't deserve it.

If I close my eyes I can see Yumi in front of me, her bangs swooped to the side in this deliberately messy-looking braid that makes her look wonderful in the low lights of the old theatre. _I want to stay right here, right in front of her, where I can see the light in her eyes, where I can see that she still exists, the Yumi I loved still exists, buried beneath all of the tears we both shed, she's still there._

The doors of the study open up and Sei reaches for my hand, pressing it tightly. Somehow I feel like she knows what's to come and she is bracing for the crash.

Even still, I think of last night. I think of how she didn't seem to mind her poorly-folded collar and the wrinkle on her sweater – such a change from the pristine Yumi I met years ago. I wonder how much she has changed since the last time we spoke. I wonder if she is happier today without my ridiculous demands on propriety and appearance. Maria-sama must be ashamed of people like me, who used her name in order to indoctrinate girls like Yumi, who need not be taught decorum, but given unconditional love.

And even still, even knowing I was wrong, I couldn't keep my hands off her last night. I couldn't stop the force that has been instilled in me.

In a way, I am thankful that I wasn't able to change her, as fitting the mold would have only chipped pieces of her heart away, and her heart, in its entirety is the most wonderful thing in this world.

To say I don't love her. To say that every inch of my heart isn't still holding on to the memories of her is the biggest lie I have ever told anyone. The biggest lie I have ever told her.

"What in the world is going on here?" I hear the question, but I can't open my eyes quite yet, and though I know I should be afraid of what is about to transpire in this study, I can't think of anyone but her.

When I told her I loved her for the first time in the stillness of my grandmother's bedroom, I said those words intentionally, knowing very well what they meant, knowing very well that out of all the things I thought were important in my life, _she_ was the most. And I was not sure I was able to convey that message properly, though the fact that she responded, "Onee-sama, I too, love you, very much," was more than enough to quiet my troubled heart. "Onee-sama, I too, love you, very much," was her asking for my heart, which I had been waiting to give to her long before that day.

The second time I told her I loved her; however, I made sure she understood my intentions. To this day, I can still hear the clicking of the hazard lights, I can still feel my seatbelt sliding away from me as I clutched the collar of her shirt with one hand, bringing her face close to mine, "I love you," I said right before my eyes closed and she took the breath right from my mouth when I pressed my lips against hers. Then I waited, impatiently, for her to open her eyes, her chest rising and falling wildly like she had just sprinted to me. I waited, my own breath uneven, my face flushed, my fingers trembling as they held on to the side of her face. "I love you, too," she finally said, making the butterflies flee my chest, straight to hers. Inside my car, during that warm summer night, I had realized that I didn't belong to myself any longer. I was hers, not only my heart, but all of me, all of me was hers.

"I'd like to hear an answer… from any one of you. Satou-san, how about you start?"

"Touro-sama…"

My mind drifts again, this time to the cowardice of my actions last night, as I agree to her invitation for tea, walking behind her, measuring my steps so I didn't stand by her, so I didn't walk with her; the epitome of craven. And I justified it in my head as the only way to be – tiptoeing behind her, never standing firmly with her, which is all she ever wanted from me. From the beginning of our soeurship all the way until the day she walked away from my life –by my request, I should add – all Yumi wanted was to understand me, to figure me out somehow, to allow me to feel that at least one person in the world walked with me, loved me for who I was. And though she knew me, everything about me, every flaw, and selfish desire, she stood by me, fought for me. In the end, her reward was loneliness, preceded by screaming matches, and lies, shouted at the top of my lungs to make her hate me, to make her leave on her own accord – which she never did. She was always steadfast, her heart was always resolute. – "Please go," I had to say. "Please, go," were my last words to her before our exchange last night.

"Please go," I said, when all I wanted was for her to stay - the night, the week, my entire life.

I let Sei handle father while I stare at the book atop of the desk in front of us. I say nothing, my eyes glaze over, and my heart tries to escape through my throat when I hear him ask why Yoshino is crying outside. "Where in the world is Yumi-chan?" he continues the inquisition, and I feel the first tears beg me to spill forth, but I fight them, like I fight everything which brings me solace in this world.

"Sachan…" Sei addresses me, softly. Her hand pressing firmly on mine, she waits for me to look at her before she mouths, "You never told him?"

I never told him. But I have never told him anything anyway. Never, not even once, I have explained myself to him, and my loving Yumi was not going to be the first thing I confided in him, especially after so many years of silence on both of our parts. We were one in the same, nevertheless. We hid our feelings, worked out our pain on our own accord, never asked for help.

I hate him. I hate him because I grew up to be just like him. I hate him because I hate myself.

"Touko-chan, go grab Yoshino-chan for me, will you?" He asks, and just as Touko leaves the study, Sei's leg starts to shake against mine. She's not scared, though, Sei has a way with adults – she can wiggle her way out of any sticky situation with ease when dealing with them. But this tick I see is very much a reaction to her inability to understand these convoluted feelings and bad decisions made by people like me, people like Shiori-san. And though she doesn't judge, she knows how to spot a bad choice from kilometers away.

I place a hand on her knee and she stops for a brief second, only to start again when father picks up Yumi's book, opens it up and flips a few pages before he closes it and places it back on the desk. Then with all the calm in the world, he asks, "And when was the last time you spoke with Yumi-chan?" The question, clearly directed at me.

"I spoke with her last night, father."

"At the book signing, I'm assuming…" he adds and it's time for Sei to look at me like I have three heads.

"…"

"Yes, sir."

"Were you there, too, Sei?"

She chokes out a yes; my leg shaking to the rhythm of hers.

Then, we are quiet for another eternity until Touko pushes the door open softly and walks in followed by Yoshino. We can tell she has been crying, her face is flushed, her eyes red. Father tells them to sit down and somehow the four of us squeeze on the loveseat – Sei and Touko sandwiching Yoshino and me.

"Yoshino-chan," father starts, waiting until she lifts her eyes toward him to continue, "You were with Yumi-chan last night, correct?"

She manages to hum a yes, then whimpers before she can cover her face with both her hands. Yoshino cries. I feel like joining her.

"Did you speak with Sachiko last night?"

Yoshino shakes her head when the, "No," gets stuck in her throat.

"Okay…" he says, and I watch my father, Ogasawara Touro, cross his arms and take a seat on the desk. His desk. His bottom, atop of the one-hundred-and-fifty year old cherry wood desk, "Sei looks like she just saw a ghost, Yoshino-chan can't stop crying, Touko-chan hasn't said a word yet, and Yumi-chan isn't here, nor is she your petite soeur anymore. What is this? The twilight zone?"

He has seen the rosary around my neck, I figure. Come to think of it, he must have seen it pressed to my chest since it has returned to me. And though I don't consider myself a masochist, I keep those beads pressed tightly against my skin as a reminder of the day I let Yumi walk away from my life. My "Please go," should have been "Don't go." It should have been, "Never go. Stay with me. Stay until I have the courage to speak up, to admit that I have never felt this way before; that I have never loved anyone this way before; that I have never wanted so badly to give myself to anyone like I want to give myself to you. Stay with me. Stay and let me love you, let me whisper in your ear: You're not only enough; you are everything that is good in me. You are light. You are this burning fire in my chest. This incredible force moving me forward."

He is not stupid. He knows Lillian's customs well enough to understand why the rosary is back around my neck. "Father…" I start, then take a deep breath because I don't know how to continue this, I don't know how to say things to him, how to ask him to forgive me for hating everything that is important to him, his company, his views on tradition, on family, on deifying the Ogasawara name.

"I love her," the words come out of my mouth, drawing a gasp from Sei, from Touko, making Yoshino sob harder, but surprising myself the most.

And much like my friends, I sit in silence, trying to figure out what comes next, trying to come up with the right rebuke to the disagreeing words I am expecting from him. Though instead of allowing me to claim my small victory, he simply says he knows. Then if that wasn't enough, he continues, "The question I don't seem to get the answer to is why is Yumi-chan not here in this room, squeezed on that couch with you kids?!"

"Father…"

Picking up the book from the desk again, he asks, "How long has this been going on, Sachan? You must have done something awful to have made Yumi-chan refuse to sign her book."

"That is right," I answer matter-of-factly.

"But you love her, you said."

"That is also right."

"You love her…"

"More than life itself."

"But somehow she's not around anymore…"

"…"

"Are you listening to yourself, Sachan?" He asks, his voice coy as if he knows that he is close to losing me, "Do you hear yourself?" he insists, nevertheless.

"…"

"I was wondering why you buried yourself in your grandmother's home for the past, how long has it been, Sachan, a year-and-a-half, two years? So the issues with the garden and the rebuilding of the guest-house were all excuses so you could keep things from me… from your mother?"

"You wouldn't understand," I say, letting the tears finally fall, letting him see, perhaps for the first time, that I am human, too; that I have a heart which aches for her; that her absence pierces through the deepest layers of me, leaving wounds that cannot heal on their own.

"We wouldn't understand? What are we? Nineteen century conservatives?"

"But… the Ogasawara name—"

"Will always be important to us… but you, Sachan. You're most important, my daughter."

"But…"

"Your mother and I trust your judgment," he says, then goes on to explain that they reared me in a way I could grow up to be a woman who made her own decisions. "And we allowed you to make these decisions, hard ones, without questioning your reasoning." Then he asks me if I remember resigning from every activity I had been part of since I were a little kid to join the Yamayurikai. "We had no idea why you were letting it all go in the beginning, but we had faith that the choices you were making would be a catalyst of growth for you, Sachan… Today I can assure you that you made the right decision: the Yamayurikai has changed you incredibly, your heart wouldn't be the same today had you not accepted Youko-chan's rosary."

"Father…" I choke.

"Do you remember telling me you wouldn't marry Suguru-kun? It was the week before Cinderella. 'Father,' you said, 'I will not marry someone whom I do not love.' I was taken aback because Suguru-kun had been your first love, your best friend, the person I thought you would be happy to marry. But I didn't question you... I figured your heart was changing; maturing, learning that if you allowed it, love would sweep you off your feet, take the ground right from beneath you. Sachan, how wonderful it was, my daughter, to watch you fall, head over heels, for someone who only had eyes for you, too! How wonderful it was to watch you learn how to compromise with her, to watch you speak of her with the utmost respect; with so much love, it overflowed into everything you did, you touched, you worked on." He pauses for a second, standing up from the desk and walking up to me, then he takes a knee in front of me as if he was a coach giving me instructions before sending me into the field, "Ah! Sachan," he starts, "I only let you spend so much time at your grandmother's house because I trusted the fact that your decisions have always been right. However, I was not aware that you were hiding instead. I was not aware that you had decided to forsake love; to renounce happiness. My daughter, is this really what you want? A life of darkness, when you know exactly where your light can be found?"

###

I pull into the driveway cursing myself because I can't find the garage door opener which means I have to walk outside in the snow and the hoody I'm wearing might as well be a tank-top.

But I press on, pushing the car door open and crunching the snow on my way to the keypad, "Whoa, whoa-ho-ho," I chuckle inwardly at my lack or composure and lady-likeness.

I make it to the keypad, popping the lid up and pressing the bottom button so the numbers light up, then I type in the passcode and wobble back to my car once the door starts to lift up. Though, instead of following through with my master plan, my legs freeze when I look at my front door. And I don't know whether I should just stand here in the cold and stare, or if I should super-man into my car and drive as far away as I can.

I take a deep breath, the cold air hurting my lungs and bringing me back to reality. So I reach inside the car, turning it off then closing its door before I walk to my front porch.

"Hey…" I say softly, only then she looks up from the steps, "Hey," she says back to me, her nose and cheeks are bright red, making me worry that she's been siting here a while, "Is… everything okay? Is Touko okay?" I ask, and she crosses her arms around herself as she stands, then she confirms everything is fine, and reassures me that Touko is safe, "I was wondering if you had a second?" she asks.

Once upon a time I had a lifetime to give her, though right now there's a force deep inside my chest burning with this desire to say no to her, to tell her she has had all of the seconds I could have given her; that as a matter of fact she owes me all of the hours she stole from me. She owes me back all of the kisses I gave her, too. I want to tell her she needs to pay back, with interest, for all of the times she quivered while my face was buried between her legs, while my fingers were inside of her, while my mouth was pressed against hers. But my words, they falter. I don't know how to be mean to her.

"Okay," I respond instead, opening the front door for her, and asking her to step inside while I turn on the light. "Let me put the car away, it will only be a minute," I finish, closing the door.

I heave a long breath then walk back to my car, hop inside, turn it on, drive it into the garage, though instead of turning the thing off and jumping out, I just sit there, letting the heater warm my face for a while, letting my blood cool down the fire inside of me for a second.

I wonder if she hasn't had enough of hurting me. I wonder if last night wasn't enough for her: daring to speak with me, accepting my offer for tea, asking me about things I wrote while my heart was breaking, cupping my face like she did the first time she kissed me, making my heart waver.

Turning off the car, I grab the bags from the backseat and I walk in through the kitchen. Then I place the take-out on the counter, the beer in the fridge, and I brace myself for more of her.

Holding my breath I step into the living room where I find her sitting on the carpet by the fireplace, the warmth of a fresh log greets me before she does. Her back toward me, she flips through the book I had signed last night and left on the couch along with the wrapping paper I had finally found this morning. "Sorry to make you wait," I tell her, to which she politely apologizes for showing up unannounced.

She's wearing a pair of dark jeans we picked up together way back when we decided I needed to stop calling her onee-sama, along with a maroon, buttoned-down blouse which looks much dressier than the jeans, though the combination works somehow, making her look wonderful – not that she has ever looked less than beautiful. Her heavy overcoat is hanging atop one of my sweatshirts on the coat rack, and the pair of white sneakers she had on earlier are neatly arranged by the front door.

Only I know how much my heart ached for a moment like this, where her things and my things would look as if they were never hers or mine, as if they were never, not even for a second, separate. In another life that was exactly how things would be; her shoes amongst mine in a corner by the front-door, overcoats wouldn't have owners: what was mine was hers. The breath she took would also be my breath; her heart, my heart. In another life this moment would be one spec, lost in the millions of moments we would have shared, and her black socks on the red carped by the fireplace would have been the rule, not the exception.

She looks at me quietly, the embers from the fireplace dancing behind her, and my bones throb at the familiarity of it all. My heart swell up against my chest, because after all of this time, she still, stubbornly, feels like home. "Yumi," my name leaves her lips in a whisper, and she starts to close the distance between us. With each step she takes my heart beats closer to my throat, but I try not to melt, I try not to let her decide things for both of us this time. I try to save myself. "Why are you here, Sachiko-sama?" I ask coldly, and watch her halt her steps half way to me, "Is there something that you forgot to tell me last night? Something that couldn't wait until the next time we stumbled upon each other?"

"Yes," she says with a finality I cannot question.

"Then, please, enlighten me," I beg, exasperation coating each word I say.

And it only takes one sentence from her before I am floored, "I've been thinking about us," she says. Immediately my nose crinkles sourly and I interrupt whatever the hell she was about to tell me next, "I'm gonna need a drink for this one, Sachiko-sama."

I play her game of pretending – I've learned from the best, after all.

What she has seemed to have overlooked is the fact that I had always thought about her, and it started way before she deemed my heart expendable. So if she expects me to drop everything to live another lie with her, she is terribly mistaken. If she expects a quick fuck and a morning goodbye for old time's sake, she's incredibly out of touch with reality.

 _This time, I will save myself._

So, I'm more than okay with dismissing her. I walk back to my kitchen, then, from behind the fridge door I shout to the living room – assuming she hasn't moved yet, because I know her, and I know very well that was not the response she was expecting from me – "Would you like one?"

She doesn't answer for a long while, so I open a beer bottle and press my back against the fridge door before taking a sip of the lager. I give her time to think about what she just did, to mull over the fact that she still doesn't understand how hard it is for me to hear her say those things knowing that she has no intentions of changing, no plans of _really_ loving me.

Then I hear her turn the corner, and she peaks into the kitchen, "I'll have whatever you're having."

At that I push myself up, turning around to open the fridge door without really looking at her, without letting her see that I am mad at her and her unchangeable lack of consideration for my feelings. "Here," I twist the cap off and hand her the bottle, then I pick up the take-out bag and I walk out of the kitchen without saying a word.

I sit on the couch and she follows suit. I assume she'll join me for dinner, she probably hasn't had anything to eat today but breakfast – she's always been terrible about forgetting to eat. "Fork or chopsticks?" I ask, while I get the food out of the bag, placing the boxes on the tray in front of me, then I reach for the napkins and the silverware inside the bag.

She chooses the fork – funny how some things never change.

So, I pull my chopsticks apart and take the box of noodles in front of me, "It's all fair game," I tell her before taking a bite, but she hesitates and I have to bundle the noodles all to one side of my mouth in order to explain, "Vegan," I mumble, and watch her feign surprise. Yes, she was the one who started it all during her first year at Lillian University, but to tell the truth, after all of the documentaries we watched together and all of the protests we were part of, I couldn't make myself revert to old habits – even if by doing so would have given me a chance to erase part of our history together.

I shoot her a cheeky smile – _I'm not ashamed of who I am._ Then I follow it with a disclaimer that she doesn't have to eat it if she doesn't like it.

"No… I think it's incredible – these guys make their protein in-house."

"Right! So, you've had this stuff before, then?" I ask.

"Y-yes," she fumbles awkwardly, adding that they have a location right across one of the Ogasawara offices.

"Oh. I thought there was only one of them… I'll have to ask Sora-san why he has never told me about this secret location…"

"Right. Right."

I'm not sure what made her so agitated about the hole-in-the-wall around the corner from my house, but I move on regardless, "Can you hand me the veggies, please?"

She offers me the box, my fingers grazing hers as she tries to give and I to take – which has never been the case when it comes down to us. But I apologize softly for the accidental touch, and it makes me angry that I have always been the one walking on eggshells around her. Always terrified of hurting her. Always so apologetic.

"It's nothing," she says.

 _"_ _It's everything!"_ I want to shout back, but refrain, allowing for silence to embrace us, my arms reaching across for the boxes instead of asking her - un-lady-like, some might say, but she's in my house, and I can eat however the fuck I want here.

Then after a while she gets up, "Would you like another one?" she asks, pointing at my beer.

"Y-yeah," I tell her, and I start to stand up, too, but she stops me, saying she can go get it, then without waiting for a response from me, she turns and waltzes to the kitchen.

A minute later she's back bearing two green bottles. I muse at her ability to do ordinary things like handling the fireplace, having lunch with plastic forks, drinking beer, being kind – a side of Sachiko I had forgotten existed. A side of her she only allows some to see, and I was lucky enough to have seen all of it – she is lovely when she lets down her walls.

She hands me one of the beers, "Your house is beautiful," she says with a smile, one which is truly hers, one which reaches her eyes, making them glimmer – she is human, after all.

So, I thank her politely, trying to remember how many times we had discussed this floor plan together. This was supposed to be our house, after all. These walls were supposed to hold picture frames with both of us in them. Every corner of _my_ house was supposed to be every corner of _her_ house, too.

But these walls are mine, the furniture is mine, the picture frames are mine, the shoes by the door are mine, and the loneliness is also mine.

"It's exactly how you drew it."

"So you remember…"

"It's hard to forget."

"…"

"Yumi," she tries to make me look at her, but I can't find the strength to do so. She's a lovely woman when she allows herself to be, and right now, I'm afraid she is the loveliest.

I can't look at her, so I stand up, holding on to the barely drank beer she just gave me, and trying to let go of these feelings that only flood my chest when she is around. I can't look at her, because if I do, then I can't save myself.

She pushes my head down into a sea of feelings again when she walks up to me – this time I can't seem to find the strength to stop her. "I was afraid," she admits for the first time ever, so I lift my eyes to address her, "Please, don't…" I say, wanting to add _"I'm not drunk enough to say yes to you. I'm not drunk enough to forget all the things you said to me when you decided our time was up."_

Though, she persists even after I beg her otherwise, "Yumi," she takes another step toward me, "I was afraid that having you by my side as more than a Petite Soeur would have been a burden to you, that people would have hurt you so they could hurt me. I thought you'd be better off without m—"

"And who gave you the right to decide for me?" I raise my voice, interrupting her, and feeling tears well up in my eyes. "What made you think I couldn't brazen through rough waters with you?" I revert to old habits I only sustain when I'm around her.

"Your strength was exactly the reason why I couldn't have asked you to stay, because I know you would have fought until you had no strength left in you, until you were stripped away from all the kindness that lies within you, and I would have been responsible for it. We were kids, Yumi. We were kids! Back then I was afraid father would split us up and send me away, I was afraid we would never see each other again. I was a coward. I loved you so much, I –"

"Sachan," I let the nickname escape from my lips, and it floats in the air between us, "You loved me so much?" I ask, even though she's telling the truth. Even though each word she has said from the moment she stood up from the steps of my porch were the most kind and honest words she could have ever said to me.

I watch her gears turn, her resolve withers away, but she doesn't do anything else. She lets me take in her defeat.

I save myself – I was right all along, after all.

And I watch her stand quietly in front of me for a long while, until she finally finds her voice again; she thanks me for the beer, chugging what's left in her bottle, placing it by the take-out then reaching for her overcoat, "Thank you for dinner, Yumi," she says to me after putting her shoes on, "I will not disturb you any longer," she finishes, opening my front door and readying herself to step out.

I have saved myself.

Nevertheless, I feel as if I have been showered with sorrow and not set free of the burden I have carried ever since she asked me to walk away from her life.

So I feel a shout brew in my chest, "Sachan!" her name flies from my lips as my heart begs me to save her instead, even if it's for just one more night, even if it kills me in the end, even if it tosses me into a never-ending abyss where love is never found again, _"Save her!"_ my heart begs of me.

"Sachan!" I scream again, and I stop her from going out the door, away for my life forever, because I know her, and I know very well what she meant when she said she wouldn't disturb me any longer. But if she goes, then I'm left with the ghost of her, which has followed me day in and day out ever since the last day of 'us.' If she goes, I'm left with this strange feeling I have once in a while that she is there with me, that she never left. And my mind will keep placing her in the crowd here and there, so I don't forget what she looks like, so I don't forget how she makes me feel, so I don't forget I still love her.

My hand on her wrist, I pull her in, her chest smashing against mine, and she is cold and warm at the same time, and I am falling again.

 _Oh, God, I am falling._

She smells like my youth. Like winter breaks when her cold lips would meet mine inside a random room in the vastness of rooms at her parents' house. "I want a small home for us, Yumi," she'd tell me.

All I ever wanted was her.

She starts to move away from me and I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her even closer to me, "Don't go yet," I whisper, my chest full of feelings I can't make up. "Stay."

"Yumi…" she manages through my pressing her chest against mine.

"I've been thinking about us," I emulate her words from earlier, and she responds by wrapping her arms around me with abandon.

There are so many things I want to tell her, so many questions I want to ask, but I let her silence speak for both of us, and I allow myself to be held more than to hold, to melt into her, unapologetically for once, until my chest explodes with another sentence from her repertoire, "I love you," I say, feeling every bone of my body tremble.

"I love you, too, Yumi."

* * *

A/N: Touro-sama, DILF of the year!

\- Lavender is song #5 of Copeland's Ixora album.

Thank you for reading!

A/N#2 4/3/18: Corrected sentence structure problem toward the end of the chapter - thank you, trinculo.


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